


Those Kinda Nights

by trustxlovexhope



Category: Ed Sheeran (Musician), Eminem (Musician), Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Dubious Consent, Idols, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut, Whump, hate smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22338712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trustxlovexhope/pseuds/trustxlovexhope
Summary: “You’re too soft for your own good.”Ed remembers all too well those words from his idol, Marshall. He’s had it out for him ever since.
Relationships: Ed Sheeran/Marshall Mathers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

"You're too soft for your own good," are the words Ed remembers from four years prior out of thin lips that had smoked too many cigarettes. He remembers holding his guitar, just looking for an autograph and instead being met with those words, "You're too soft for your own good." Then a chuckle and footsteps leaving. He remembers one of his only idols leaving him heartbroken like that and he remembers how betrayed he felt. How sick he was. He'd looked up to that man for far too long to be pushed down like that. 

Ed knew his music wasn't quite as popular, wasn't near as iconic as Marshall's at that point. He was from Framlingham, Suffolk, England. Most people would have no clue where the hell that is. Few people would recognize the name Ed Sheeran. Many more would recognize Eminem or Slim Shady. Many more would swoon at that name. Ed remembers too well that music festival. He remembers too well being seven lines under Eminem on the poster. Finally meeting the person that he'd looked up to for so long and being brushed off as, "You're too soft for your own good."

Ed didn't forget that for a long time. He remembers how devastated and upset he felt about that. How weak and... heartbroken he was. Too soft... too fucking soft. Fucking bullshit. Was it because his entire thing was being acoustic? Was that it? Was that what the great Slim Shady hated so much? He knew it was bullshit, he was pissed that he really spent most of his life looking up to an asshole like that. He should have known better.

There was much more before the "You're too soft for your own good." There were letters, tweets, replies. Ed kept a copy of each and every one. Hoping for so long that he would reply somehow, in some way. Hoping that maybe all those years of running from his problems with so few artists to stay with him through it would be worth it. Maybe those artists would come out and help in some way. Say that he's not alone and they're happy their music helped or something. Anything. Years of shitty letters did shit for him, though. 

Ed remembers very well the conversation that lead up to the words that gave him his hate for Em. He remembers he was behind the curtain, waiting for Eminem, hearing him spit out lines faster than Ed could think. He remembers his heart pounding, his head pounding. He remembers feeling his mouth dry. He was getting stares from a few other people there, he can't really remember what music festival it was, but he does know that he was still one of the smaller acts. 

Cheering. The curtains. Eminem's face, drinking down water, shaved black hair, that stone cold face. Ed's heart caught in his throat. He couldn't believe he was actually standing face to face with the Marshall Mathers. The guy he'd listened to for years since he entered his very first depressive episode and felt like hell through his mum's death and his dad remarrying a bitch he couldn't care less about. This was the person who he listened to when he spent at least 100 nights in this gross cycle of anxiety attacks and suicidal thoughts. This was the person who had been there for his darkest places and suddenly, here he was. Standing right in front of him.

Ed wasn't sure what to say, how to phrase his words. His mouth is open, but nothing comes out and suddenly Marshall is pushing past him without a second look and it's all happening so fast and- and- /shit/.

"Marshall," Ed says, slightly too loud. Em turns, gives him a strange look.

"Don't call me Marshall," He says, "I don't have time to sign autographs right now. How did you even get back here, huh? They shouldn't be letting fans here."

"I'm Ed Sheeran, I'm another performer." Ed clarifies, still very anxious, "I really enjoy your music, though, and it's gotten me through some tough shit."

Eminem still seems apathetic, but after a moment, recognition crosses his face, "Oh right, Ed. You're the kid who wrote about that... that prostitute right? Yeah, I've gotten your letters and shit. Glad I could help but uh... don't try to talk to me again, yeah? I'm a busy guy and I don't have time for that."

He pauses, squints, and then says, "You know, you're pretty fucking soft, kid. Too soft for your own good."

Ed stands there as he leaves with his bodyguards, drinking back his water. Ed is escorted out and he just kinda... stands there for a moment, gripping his guitar harder than before and swallowing back the dryness in his throat. The moment he gets back to his bus, he punches the wall as hard as he can and he's pretty sure he breaks a finger but he's too pumped on adrenaline to care.

He doesn't see Eminem for another four years. He writes a couple more letters about how shitty that was and sends them off before he focuses as much as he can on his music career. After plus, there's x. Three years after the festival with Eminem, he's released another album. This time, the media is in love. There's way more than just fifty thousand, this time it's two million albums sold. This time, he's headlining. This time, /everyone/ knows his name. Sold out shows, advertisements in subways. Photograph and Thinking Out Loud play during commercial breaks. Ed is on top of the world. 

Eminem, on the other hand, just released The Marshall Mathers EP2. Rap God and The Monster are nearly top of the charts. Ed, somehow, doesn't feel quite as pissed as he thought he would. He gets it. He gets being busy and stressed to hell and unable to deal with fans. He still thinks it was shit. "You're too soft for your own good." "Don't try to talk to me again." Fucking asshole.

But of course, they weren't going to stay away from each other forever. There's an awards show. Ed and Em are both supposed to be there. Ed wasn't sure how to feel. On one hand, he was still upset with Em for tossing him aside like that and calling him soft. On the other hand, Ed still hasn't completely lost that feeling of being a fan of his. He tried, but he just had too many memories attached and it hurt to lose it all. He still somewhat looks up to Em. Still wants some sort of validation even if the guy's an asshole.

Ed's excitement almost surpasses his distaste for Em, especially in the weeks leading up to the show. He doesn't want to let himself disregard Em's shitty behavior, but he also wants to have some sort of... something from him. He considers not talking to him at all, considers just ignoring him, but at the same time he wants to at least say hi. Something. He's really conflicted on how he feels about the whole matter, but when the time for the award show finally comes, he realizes he might not have another chance to talk to him after this. At least not for a few more years. The next awards show, the next festival, something about the fame makes him feel numb inside. Like everything is just dragging on and on, the same rinse and repeat. He has empathy for Em, he knows how shitty it can be. 

It's two months after the awards show is announced with appearances from both Ed and Eminem when he finally takes the plane trip out to Los Angeles. As much as he was anxious about his interactions with Em, the stress of knowing his script and his performance quickly creeps in and overpowers his emotions. Suddenly, it's all about knowing what will make him seem like the best person and knowing how to please his fans. There's hardly any room to think about his idol through the chaos. The plane ride is full of him talking to the manager and whoever else on his team trying to figure out what he's gonna say if he wins, trying to figure out a script. Fake words. Fake meanings. The life of a celebrity is very plastic. That's something Ed had to learn the hard way.

The next time he even gets to think about Eminem is the day of the show. he sitting in the audience, surrounded by other artists who are hoping for the award just matches him. Not for the honor, just for the fans that might come with it. Just for the money. Ed's never thought like that, though. Just knowing that his music could compare with people like Taylor Swift or Maroon 5 is crazy to him. Especially to compare to artists like Eminem. Artists that almost everybody knows and recognizes. He actually ended up winning an award early in the show. It allowed his mind to finally circle back around to the asshole he wishes he didn't look up to. Em wins some award that Ed forgot the name of. They announce the name of Eminem, grin as the rapper climbs the steps and takes the award from whoever is hosting. 

For a second, Em's eyes land on Ed in the audience and he says, "Thanks for the award, this really means a lot to me. Crazy that I've gone this far from who I used to be. I actually..." he trails off and points to Ed, Ed's heart skips a beat. 

"I know this is off topic, but I wanna say my congrats to Ed Sheeran here. He definitely deserves more of the clout than I do. I remember him and I at a festival about six years back. He was still small, and he said to me about how much my music meant to him and how he was this small act, just released his first album. I told him his music is good, and to keep it real. Crazy that he's here now, earning awards left and right." Eminem's words are slurred, he's very obviously high. Ed is shocked at first. At the bullshit leaving this asshole's mouth. He can't believe this is happening, his fingers feel numb, his head is tingly. Then, he's pissed and feels like crying. He takes deep breaths to try not to panic. There's no way this asshole really thought coming up to this stage, telling Ed how he thought he was a great artist and told him to "keep it real," and then leaving was a good idea. There's no way he did that. Eminem says some other shit about himself and Ed, who is way too fucking out of it to listen, though. People's eyes are on him. He just forces himself to smile and wait for Eminem to leave the stage before he excuses himself. 

He barely manages to hit the bathroom before he's breaking down, gripping his hair and staring in the mirror, trying not to break the glass. This asshole, his fucking idol. He really lied to get the positive views from his friends. /Fuck/ are celebrities plastic. He can't believe Slim. Can't believe he'd pull some shit like that. He sighs, stares at himself in the mirror. Ed's sick of his bullshit. "You're too soft for your own good." "Don't try to talk to me again."

Ed sighs, after gazing at himself for a few minutes, he finally just splashes water on his face and sighs. He wants so badly to punch that stupid asshole in his face and tell him how shitty that was to act like he actually helped Ed and-

"Oh."

Ed's head rises to the mirror. On the other side he sees Em standing there, apathetic. Ed turns around, clenches his fist and immediately says to him, "What the fuck? What the fuck was that out there? You really thought you could just lie and act like that would be fine? Fucking... 'Keep it real'?"

Marshall seems unphased at first, crossing his arms and staring through half-lidded eyes,"Relax. It's not like anyone's gonna remember that shit. My fans have been turning on me anyway. I needed a lift." Eminem looks Ed up and down then says, "I can't even fucking remember what I said to you. I know you were looking for a fuckin autograph like I wasnt fucking busy, though."

"You called me soft." Ed growls, "And you said not to talk to you again. But sure, guess you just inspired me to get here. Guess all of /my/ fucking fame Came. From. You."

Ed pokes Em's chest on the "you." Em immediately grabs Ed's hand and shoves him back against the wall, "Don't fucking touch me."

Ed is scared, heart racing then, all his anger evaporates into "oh shit". He has no clue what the hell Em's gonna do. That terrifies him. He knows Marshall could beat the hell out of him and he wouldn't stand a chance. Marshall, on the other hand is euphoric in the power he has over Ed in that moment. There's a tension between them, it isn't physical violence, though. It isn't that at all. It's almost sexual in a way, and Marshall isn't sure how to feel about that. He does know that he doesn't want to leave that. 

"Marshall?" Ed manages to say, breathily. 

"Don't fucking call me that," Em says, slamming Ed's wrists against the wall once more. Ed's eyes widen, and they stare at each other like that for what feels like an eternity. Eminem is slightly taller than Ed, his feet planted firmly on the bathroom floor, strong and tough. Anyone could walk in on them like this. Marshall squeezing Ed's wrists just a little too harsh. Ed's lips parts just enough to communicate his unsettlement. Ed doesn't know how to feel about that. He swears there's some sort of arousal but he's too terrified to explore it. 

"Em...?" Ed tries again, the tension too much for him. Marshall swallows, looks into Ed's eyes just a little too long. 

Marshall's hand moves from Ed's wrist. Down his ribs and finally to the front of his jeans. Ed shudders, goosebumps climbing his spine. He doesn't pull away, though. His hips end up pushing forward just slightly. Their eyes meet again, hesitation and tension thick in the air. Neither of them know for sure what they want to do. They both know it's up to Marshall. 

Marshall makes his move.


	2. First Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what this story is, but I can promise you, it's better than half the stories I have on my account right now. Anyways, here's some smut.

Ed’s jeans are on the floor before he can process anything. He doesn’t stop Marshall, he wouldn’t in a thousand years. He tries to lean forward to capture his lips, to keep his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to watch, but Marshall avoids them. His hands are too busy tugging off his underwear. Ed is uncertain how it got so far along in such little time. He didn’t expect this out of Marshall, not at all, but all logic goes out the window as soon as Marshall’s hand wraps around his cock. He’s hard, all the blood has rushed from his brain and all his weight goes against the wall. He can barely focus because /fuck/ does that feel good. Em’s hands are softer than Ed expected unlike his own calloused hands, and he knows how to touch a cock. 

He squeezes, not too hard, and holds one hand against the wall before biting hard into Ed’s neck. Ed cries out, pulling away immediately and pulling back his hips, but Marshall doesn’t care. Ed parts his lips, wanting to say something, anything but he doesn’t know what. His mind is blank, his breathing fast enough that he’s somewhat hyperventilating and making his thoughts even harder to process. 

“Get on your knees.” Marshall snarls into Ed’s ear. 

“W-what?” Ed gasps, pushing his hips closer to try to keep Marshall’s hand on him. 

“Knees,” Marshall says again, much more aggressive this time. He yanks his hand from Ed’s cock and pushes down on his shoulder. 

“I’ve never sucked cock before,” Ed tries. It’s true and it’s the only thing stopping him from continuing. 

“Just—“ Marshall growls, forcing him down and unbuckling his jeans. He keeps one foot firmly on Ed’s leg so he can’t get back up without a fight. Ed finds it strangely hot. 

It isn’t long before Marshall’s cock has escaped his jeans and is rising up. He’s larger than Ed expected. Ed’s terrified, but he knows Em’s personality enough to know he wouldn’t let it go on if he didn’t like it. He’s immediately the one to take control, one hand in Ed’s hair, the other on his cock, easing himself past Ed’s lips. Ed’s eyes squeeze shut, he’s not a huge fan of the feeling, but he takes it. He’s too mesmerized by Marshall’s controlling attitude to let himself be bothered. Marshall groans, low and deep enough for Ed to feel it in his own cock as his head is pressed against the wall and soon enough, Marshall’s fucking his face into the wall. 

Ed immediately moves his head to the side to grab air, afraid he’ll vomit, but his gag reflex is surprisingly strong and he relaxes himself. Marshall lets him breathe, thank fuck, but not for long before he’s forcing his cock as far down Ed’s throat as he can get, head thrown back and gritting his teeth. Ed’s watering at the eyes as Marshall pushes in to the very back of Ed’s throat, and back out to his lips before repeating. It’s intense, Ed isn’t sure what to do, his mouth is slack, his eyes shut tight and he’s scared he’ll bite his dick off. He pulls off again for air, coughing and gripping at the wall. Em growls a soft, “Hurry up.”

Ed gasps before pressing himself down on Marshall this time. Marshall is quick to take over control again, though, and fuck his mouth once again. Ed begins sucking now, really hoping to get him off quicker. As pleasurable as this is for him, he can’t take too much longer before he’s sure he’ll end up vomiting. Marshall lets out a low whine, hips twitching forward and sending himself further. Ed hums, more of a moan than anything. Marshall’s quick to go weak at the knees. He’s close, very close. That’s exactly what he says to Ed. 

“I’m gonna come,” He gasps, gripping Ed’s hair and pushing his head further toward his groin. 

Ed pulls back with a clean pop and his hand immediately goes to his dick, jerking him fast and loose. Em exhales, pressing one hand to the wall and shutting his eyes tight. He cries out, his voice breaking as he comes on Ed’s face eyes open now to see himself finish over his cheek, forehead, nose, and some in his facial hair. Marshall gasps for air, Ed finishing milking his cock before licking the tip. Marshall takes a moment to just stare at him, Ed has no clue what emotions are going through his head. Em swallows, pulls back so his foot is no longer on Ed. He clears his throat, assessing everything that just happened. He avoids Ed’s eyes. 

“Em?” Ed whispers, trying to comfort him or get some sort of feel for what’s going on. Marshall’s pulling on his underwear and jeans, though. Ed says his name again, louder this time. Em ignores him, finishes buttoning up his pants before speeding out the bathroom, sniffling. Ed is shaky on his feet as he rises and rigs on his own clothes. He’s completely limp, his worry overcoming his arousal. He knows he can’t leave with cum still on his face, so he cleans it off before leaving to try to find Em. He knows it was sudden for both of them. He isn’t sure how to feel. 

He stares in the mirror for a second before he leaves. Ed knows that this is going to be very hard for him to process, but Em takes priority. He’s the one who is gonna struggle the most. Ed considers not finding him at first, considers leaving him to work out his own shit. It actually sounds like a reasonable idea, but he wants answers, too. It was so… impulsive. So in the moment. Ed isn’t sure why he didn’t say no. Doesn’t understand why he didn’t just brush him off. He’s an asshole, he claimed to be some fucking messiah for Ed when he was anything but that. Fucking “soft.” Ed’s still not completely over that. 

Despite his logic telling him to take care of himself, he can’t stop himself from leaving the bathroom to seek out Em. The awards are still going on. Ed isn’t sure where the hell he plans on finding him. Doesn’t know where the hell he’d run off to. He’s sure that he’s leaving or something. Ed knows he needs to move quickly. He walks through the halls of the auditorium, trying to find Marshall, somewhere, anywhere. He keeps looking, keeps walking. Finally, he makes his way outside, having searched through as much of the building as possible. 

Climbing the steps outside the auditorium, a sleek black car with its headlights on catches his eye. It hasn’t left yet. Ed has no clue for sure if it would be Marshall’s, but he jogs to catch up to it before it can leave. It’s just about to pull back when Ed finally reaches the window. He raps on the glass, trying to peer in, but the windows are tinted dark enough he can’t see. He hopes to God it’s Marshall so that maybe he can just… /talk/. When the window rolls down, though, he realizes very quickly it’s not. 

“What?” The driver asks, long curly hair. He doesn’t recognize him, but he knows shotgun as Pete Wentz very quickly. 

“Sorry, thought you were Eminem. Have… have you seen him by chance?” Ed asks, slightly desperate. 

Pete looks to the curly haired man who shrugs. Someone in the back seat peeps up, “I think he left a few minutes ago.”

“Oh,” Ed says, disappointment thick in his voice, “Okay, well. Thanks, anyway.”

The window is quick to roll back up as Ed steps back, letting the car leave the lot. Fucking hell, why the hell would Em just… take off like that? He pinned Ed against a wall and fucked his throat then left. It’s like he doesn’t care about anyone else. It’s not like he can contact Ed, anyway. No phone number, no email, nothing. Ed swallows and takes a deep breath before pinching the bridge of his nose. His head is spinning, he feels tired. He wants to go home. 

He really, really wants to go home.


	3. in contact

Back at his hotel, Ed has pulled the bottle of Smirnoff from the mini-fridge and is chugging it down faster than his brain will work. Four shots in and he puts the cap back on the vodka before falling back on the bed and staring at the ceiling to process his emotions. He isn’t sure how he feels, how he wants to feel about it. In the span of what felt like an hour, his emotions went from mildly upset, to furious, to turned on and passionate, and finally to lost. The ceiling feels too far away and he needs to talk with Em, but he know he can’t. He doesn’t know where to contact him, where to find him, where to get enough privacy to discuss it over.

He sniffles, his nose running. Maybe Em was just high, maybe he just wasn’t thinking right and he just wanted to get his dick wet. Maybe that’s all and it’s nothing more. No feelings. Ed definitely has no feelings for him, he’d kill himself before he’d let himself gather feelings for Marshall. He’s an asshole, a druggie who has no respect for his fans, no respect for Ed. He just expected him to take down his cock like he was under him. Ed has to admit, he loved it. He has a hard time admitting it, but he can’t lie. 

The way that Marshall just held him by the back of the head, used him to get off… Ed hates that. He hates that he loves it. He hates that he would probably let that asshole do it again, treat him like trash like that. Use him. Ed exhales, adjusting in his bed before he feels a tightness in his jeans. He looks down, then groans and rubs his eyes. He doesn’t want to deal with this right now. 

He’s never thought he would be gay, or would ever experiment with men. He never thought that he’d leave his safe, cozy haven of straightness to have sex with an asshole idol who called him soft years before. But… God if it wasn’t good…

Damn it. 

Ed takes another swig of his Smirnoff. He’s getting dizzy. He’s happy with that. He sits up, places the alcohol haphazardly on the table and grabs his phone. He needs to talk to Em about this. He needs to have some sort of contact with him. Something, anything. He needs to know what it means. Why the hell Em would go off and say all these homophobic things for years in his lyrics and suddenly he’s gone off and fucked Ed in a bathroom. What the hell did he mean by it? Anything?

“Stuart?” Ed says, eyes staring at the carpeted floor. His words are slurred… he thinks.

“Ed? Are you drunk?” Stuart, his manager, replies, obviously pretty busy, “I see your awards went well. Eminem gave you a shoutout. Cameras came in on you, you seemed on edge. On live TV. You know you gotta at least put on some sort of mask during that stuff.”

“Can I get in contact with Marshall? I know you… managers have a thing. We’re thinking bout a… uh… collab of sorts. Could you do that for me? I just need his number. Please.”

Stuart takes a moment of silence, then finally says, “Sure. Give me a couple days and I’ll--”

“No, I need it as soon as possible. Please.” Ed replies before letting out a burp, “Fuck, just. Please call them right after this. I need it…”

“Hey, Ed, relax. I’ve got you. I’ll call you back with his number, give me ten minutes at most.” He says, “I’ll text you.”

“Thanks,” Ed replies, hanging up before Stuart can say anything else. Maybe it’s becuase Ed is very drunk, but he’s getting a mild headache and he’s getting… very tired.

He lays back down on the bed, taking a deep yawn and before he can really process much, he’s asleep.

***

Brr… Br… Brrrr… 

Ed squints, his eyes opening slightly.

Brr… Br… Brrrr…

He sits up, his head aching softly. His phone is vibrating by his head. Unknown caller. He doesn’t process it too much before he presses the accept button. There’s silence for a moment then.

“Where are you right now?”

“Who is this?” Ed asks, groaning.

“Slim. I asked you a question. Where are you?”

Ed immediately perks up, sitting up on the bed, “Em? We need to talk, I don’t-”

“Where the fuck are you, Ed?” Marshall asks, much more aggressive this time.

“U-Um. Millennium Biltmore, why?”

“I’m gonna come over. I want your ass ready.” Marshall replies. It’s obvious he’s driving, “What’s your room number?”

“Uh… 901. Very top. Huge room.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes. I’m gonna fuck you, I don’t know what the hell you have to do to prep for that, google it. I don’t fucking care. Be ready in five minutes. I’m bringing lube and condoms.”

Ed tries to say something else, but Em has already hung up. Ed takes a breath, swallows back his fear. He doesn’t want to do this right now, he loves… he loves how Em doesn’t give a shit, but he needs to talk about this. He’s not gay, he’s never considered himself to be gay. He knows for a fact there’s no way Marshall is. Ed has no clue what he should do here. He wants to get fucked by Marshall… He knows for a fact that he does. 

Ed also has no clue what the hell Marshall expects out of him when he arrives. Ed wants to get fucked, sure, but he has emotions to work through and… he’s also never been fucked in the ass. He doesn’t know how uncomfortable that’ll be for himself. He doesn’t want to think about it because that’s not what he’s doing today. He’s going to sit down and talk with Marshall. He doesn’t fucking care if he wants to fuck. What the hell was Marshall thinking earlier today? Why the hell would he just push him against that wall and kiss him after telling lies about their relationship on a stage. 

Ed spends those next seven minutes, chugging down more alcohol and smoking cigarettes until a knock on his door pulls him out of his anxious haze. He stands on his feet and stumbles to the door, feeling slightly sick to his stomach. The door opens, deep temples and short, black hair. Next thing he knows, the door is shutting and he’s being thrown back on the bed. 

“E-Em,” Ed tries, but Marshall pins his wrists down. Ed shouldn’t have had however many more shots as he did. 

“Did you prep?” Em asks, tugging down his jeans to show his thick cock, curved toward his belly. Ed groans, squinting, “We need to talk.”

“Did you?”

“/No/, Em! I fucking didn’t.” Ed cries out, shoving Em away. Em comes right back afterward, pinning his throat down this time. 

“Don’t fucking shove me away,” Em snarls, violent, now. Aggressive. Ed is terrified. 

“I SAID NO!” Ed roars, tears gathering at his eyes now. Em stops, taking a step back, staring. Ed takes a breath, trying to gather himself, “What… what is this? Why do you think you can just… push me around like this? I… I wanna talk. I just… wanna talk.”

Em stares for a moment longer, eyes scanning over Ed. Finally, he takes a step closer and says to Ed, “If you let me fuck you right now, I promise you. I promise you, we can talk. Just… I loved what happened earlier. I… I’m addicted to it. Because you’re so easy to control, you know that? I don’t want to actually hurt you. I thought you liked how rough I was. Just… let me fuck you. Please.”

Ed stares at Marshall, taking a breath before nodding, and eventually, when Marshall ghosts his fingertips over Ed’s crotch, he whispers out a breathy, “Please make it hurt.”

Ed doesn’t see the grin, but he can sense it as he tugs his jeans down sloppily. Em is grabbing the lube and condom packet when Ed’s underwear are on the floor. Em opens the lube first, “Turn over.”

Ed immediately complies, bending over the bed, slightly self conscious. He just shuts his eyes as Em sticks a lube-coated finger in him and Ed gasps. It feels weird, and not pleasant at all. He has no clue how he’ll take a cock as big as Marshall’s. He inhales, whining, hands gripping the sheets before another finger comes in and he’s being fucked roughly by both. 

“Shit, Marshall-“ Ed starts, gasping. He immediately regrets saying that, though, because Marshall shoved in two more fingers without lube. Ed cries out, legs shaking and he tries to push away from Marshall, but there is no mercy as he continues to be fingerfucked against the bed, one hand in his hair, one fucking him hard and hitting his prostate every few strokes. Ed gasps, unable to get over the shock and slight pain. 

Em finally pulls out, wiping his fingers on the bedsheets. Ed tries to pull up but Marshall immediately shoves him back down, “Stay still, bitch.”

Ed lays there, staring at the wall, slightly dizzy still, but soon enough, he feels Em’s cock nuzzling at his entrance. Ed takes a breath, and whispers, “Can I turn over?” 

Em is silent for a moment before he replies with a staccato, “Yes.”

Ed does so, and stares up at Em whose cock rests in his hand. Ed feels his mouth water slightly at that as Em tugs Ed back toward him and rests his cock against his entrance once again. 

“You have to relax,” Em says, no tenderness in his voice. Ed does, though, takes a breath as Es sinks himself into him. Ed cries out, his hips rising off the bed to try to relieve the pain or make it somewhat more bearable. Em’s hand rests on Ed’s throat, but Ed can barely process it over how intense it feels to have Marshall inside him. He inhales, squeezes his eyes shut, but Em slaps him hard and grasps his jaw, forcing him to grit his teeth. 

“Look at me,” Marshall growls as he bottoms out, pressing his hips as close to Ed’s as possible. Ed cries out, gripping at Em’s arm at the pain and the stretch. Em pins his arms back down, though, and presses himself as deeply as he can. Ed cries out, tries to pull away, tries to make it hurt just a little less, but Em doesn’t give him such satisfaction, instead he just pulls back and shoves himself in. Ed cries out gripping at the sheets as Marshall finally sets a pace. 

“You’re so tight,” Marshall groans, lifting his hands from Ed’s wrists to instead pull his hips closer. Ed’s panting, it’s intense. He isn’t ready for it to be so fast, so deep. Em is big, Ed isn’t ready for it. It’s so much. So much. 

“It hurts,” Ed whimpers, but he’s quickly shut up by Marshall striking his cheek once again and choking him into the bed. Ed’s eyes roll into the back of his head at that touch. The lack of air, and finally, finally Marshall’s cock slamming into his prostate. Ed lets out a solid moan, lifting his hips and choking out a soft, “Again, there, please.”

It takes a minute of different sized thrusts before Marshall finds it again, and stays on it. Ed cries out, going absolutely insane with the pleasure coursing through him. A thumb leaves his neck, allowing him to take a breath before it instead inserts between wet, red lips. Ed’s gone from hell to heaven in less than ten seconds. The way Marshall slams into him, makes a spike in the pit of his stomach, his cock aching. So much is happening. Marshall’s ginger growing wrinkly between Ed’s lips, Ed’s cock swollen and aching on his stomach, Marshall slamming into him, making him feel heaven, and his legs shaking. His orgasm is coming in quick and as Marshall’s finger leaves Ed’s mouth, he whispers out a soft, “I’m gonna cum.”

Em’s hand dances across Ed’s cock, stroking him fast and hard as his hips continue to thrust against the other’s in fast, sudden motions. Ed’s hips rise slightly, a gasp escaping his throat. 

“Marshall,” Ed tries, hoping for something more. Em snarls out a violent, “Don’t /fucking/ call me that.”

Next thing he knows, he’s back on his stomach and being fucked erratically into the bed, his head forced into the blankets. Ed cries out, tears leaving his eyes at the intensity of Marshall’s cock, so deep and so thick. Ed bites the blanket as he feels himself coming undone from the friction of the blankets under him. He can barely breathe as he cries out, a solid yelp into the blanket when his cock twitches and finally releases, warm and sticky into the blanket. He’s sobbing out, crying out swears. Marshall obviously doesn’t care, though, becuase he keeps fucking into him, forcing himself deeper and rougher until finally, he lets out a solid groan and with a shaky grip of Ed’s hair, he comes undone. Ed can feel his body shaking, his fingers digging into his scalp. 

Marshall takes a moment, panting against Ed’s back before pulling out. Ed’s legs go weak and he slowly rises back up, turning to look at Marshall who is pulling off the condom. Ed’s eyes watch intently, seeing him turn back around to meet his eyes. Almost immediately, Ed feels sick to his stomach and he covers his mouth, eyes wide, before running to the bathroom. 

He barely gets the toilet open before he’s vomiting, heaving. Marshall immediately follows behind, Ed can feel it. He rests a hand on Ed’s back, causing the latter to jump slightly, but relax a moment later as he finishes heaving. 

“I… I think i’m really fucked up right now,” Ed groans, “Please stay the night?”

“I don’t know if i can with my schedule-“ Marshall tries. 

“Please,” Ed whispers again, this time much more desperate. Em hesitates, then nods, washing down a cloth to wipe off Ed’s mouth. 

“We can talk in the morning,” Marshall says, leaving the bathroom. Ed washes off his face and flushes the toilet before brushing his teeth. He crawls into the opposite side of the bed as Marshall and after a long moment of staring at the ceiling, he says to Marshall in a soft voice, “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For staying.” Ed replies, “And agreeing to talk.”

Marshall hums in reply, obviously not thrilled. He turns off the lights and not long after, Ed has fallen asleep.


End file.
